Prowl Cat
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: It was not in Minerva's nature – human or cat – to simply sit.


**A/N:** This is written for several things, so I've made a nice list below instead.

- For the Book-Quotes boot camp, prompt #037: I'm more than just a piece in their Games. – The Hunger Games  
- For the If you Dare Challenge, Dark Level, prompt #118 – silence  
- For the Gemstone Colour Competition, category: agate  
- For the Hogwarts Classes Category Competition, category: transfiguration  
- For the Favourite Era bootcamp challenge, prompt #050 – cat

* * *

**Prowl Cat**

Hogwarts had never been the perfect haven but as of late it was nothing but a prison. Silence did not suit its evening halls, but even that was a better alternative to the screams and whimpers that floated up from the dungeon steps.

It was whimpers that night, with the coal-hearted asleep and the innocent staring wide-eyed at the roof of their beds. Mrs Norris stared at her as she slunk pass; she stared back, and a look of understanding passed between familiar and animagus. Mrs Norris continued to stare at the spot she had vacated long after, and Minerva thanked her silently as she lost sight of the feline.

She was a little less conspicuous as a cat than as a human, particularly since she always took the extra caution to cast a disillusion charm on herself. Little ripples in the shadow went unsighted as she slipped past that night's patrol.

At least the Dementors weren't in the castle, but they circled its perimeter like the gaolers they were. The scent of despair they gave off however wafted through the stale air of Hogwart's halls, and even in her animal form it clogged her nostrils and prodded her heart. The human in her had almost forgotten the smells of hope and innocent laughter, of pranks going off on every corner and the jolly arguments about.

Her House was half the size of the previous year, perhaps a little less. There were too many Muggleborns: the Creeveys were just one of the families that came to mind. Hufflepuff had suffered the same fate, Ravenclaw a little less, and it was only Slytherin who still had a strong presence within the school. And considering Salazaar's preferences, that was hardly unexpected.

Gryffindor had suffered more than the others though, for it was the house that contained Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley: the three most wanted people in magical Britain.

But that was far beyond what she could think about, what she could act on. In fact, there was very little she could do at all, except keep her lions' secrets as best she could. The Carrows at least had no proof to staple the activities of Dumbledore's Army onto Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley, but known members when caught were punished in a manner that made her tendon's snap in suppressed fury.

If she could afford to, if she was still that young and agile, she would hex the Carrows and Severus Snape into oblivion. But they were too cowardly, too crafty. They never left their backs open, and there were _hundreds_ of students to consider, hundreds of students whose lives were in constant jeopardy.

Their one small blessing was that no student had yet died on the grounds of Hogwarts…but it was a near thing. Misfired Dark curses had sent many a supposed rule-breaker to the Hospital Wing, and Minerva knew how ragged Poppy was running herself in order to repair the damage. Demelza Robins was the most recent of their victims, caught in a poorly executed _Fiendfyre_ by Gregory Goyle.

Fiendfyre. That was the sort of thing taught at their school.

The dungeon steps came upon her fast and she carefully tiptoed down, careful that her padded paws made no sound.

Misfired spells were nothing, nothing, compared to what went on in detentions.

She came across the door, left half-open with gap enough for her to slip through. She was careful in doing so; it was oddly convenient – always oddly convenient, but even as age ceased to be kind on her body she was a well accomplished Witch. Sadly, the days of fighting face to face were yet to surface; tricks, unofficial hostages…those were the tricks of the enemy and they were forced to yield.

One of her lions was chained to the world: a first year no less. She let out a silent hiss that echoed off the dungeon walls of her soul, then snuck out her shrunken wand from its hiding place in the folds of her skin. Abrasions and cuts were obvious even in the dark, and silently she took care of the worst of the damage. Leaving then red and broken still, but enough to naturally heal.

Then she waited, waited until the soft sounds of footsteps reached her sharp ears. Waited until a taller figure creaked open the door a little more – and Minerva was quick, casting a silent spell between the fingers as they closed around the door, temporarily disarming the curse that lay upon it. She did the same when the upperclassman – Ernie Macmillan this time, she realised – reached to feel the chains, looking for where to loosen them without alert.

He found the place, and a carefully cast _Relashio _saw the Gryffindor's limp hand come free. It was heart-warming seeing a Hufflepuff risk so much for a Gryffindor; never had Houses been so united as in the efforts of Dumbledore's Army in assisting their peers. But the risk wasn't so large a risk when a guardian angel lay in wait in the shadows, and Minerva set the traps back, unbroken, before leaving the cold behind herself. In the distance, she heard the annoyed curses of the patrol as the two students stole away into the night, a final spell of parting sent after them to cloak them from the Carrows' sharp eyes. They were not as inconspicuous as her, but the Carrows were happy enough with a party to blame and none the wiser to her own involvement in the matter.

Later, back in her office and in her human form, she let a small smile slide across her lips at the knowledge that one more lion was safely in their bed…or as safe as one could be in Hogwart's new halls. Even if the heavy net above them restricted their moves, the Carrows would find – and were finding – smaller things slipping through the cracks.

If those freed from detention in the night were to be punished even more severely, no-one would even consider it. But the Carrows were not as subtle as their Slytherin heritage screamed, and it was not in Minerva's nature – human or cat – to simply sit.


End file.
